


Fear and Fairy Tales

by Drag0nst0rm



Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: 19th Century England, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Changelings, F/M, Gen, Sidhe, The Masquerade, The Sight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-06-16 06:33:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15431100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drag0nst0rm/pseuds/Drag0nst0rm
Summary: Once, everyone knew that it was best to keep a bit of cold iron ready, and that one should never, ever, insult the Fair Folk.Now, Darcy's family is one of the few left in England with enough Sight to see things as they really are.Such as the fact that Miss Elizabeth Bennet is not at all human.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Pride and Prejudice.
> 
> This is the last of the birthday fics, so updates will slow down considerably after this.

There wasn't a Darcy, de Bourgh, or Fitzwilliam alive who went anywhere without cold hard iron.

Mostly because those who didn't didn't stay alive for very long.

 

"Darcy looks like he's looking right through you," Bingley laughingly complained more than once. "The Darcy glare can see right to your soul."

This was not quite right, but Bingley was close. Uncomfortably close. There was a strong strain of Sight in Darcy's family that was becoming ever rarer in England.

And if it weren't for good, cold iron, the Sidhe would see to it that it was rarer yet.

 

Elizabeth Bennet was beautiful and charming and not at all human.

Bingley urged him to dance with her, and Darcy -

_He clung to little Georgiana behind a ring of salt and kept the last grains in his hand, ready throw at the writhing shadows around them. He could hear the music out the window, the music that must have lured someone into opening the doors on Midsummer's Night despite the rules._

_When daylight came, he found his parents dead in the garden, shoes worn through to bloodied feet._

\- "You know I dislike dancing," he said, and only a lifetime of iron composure and the iron blade concealed by his coat allowed him a semblance of calm.

"Yes, little though I comprehend it. But surely such a lovely partner must change your mind?"

Her eyes laughed at him from across the room.

"She is very lovely," he agreed. One did not insult the Fair Folk, no matter how many memories of blood they conjured. "But I fear I am poor company tonight."

 

_Dear Georgiana,_

_I trust you are improving now that you are away from the dangers of the sea._

_I had hoped to invite you to join me, but I believe I have stumbled across a changeling. Rarely have I met someone so brazenly fey, yet the family that claims her could hardly be more human._

_Please do not fear for my sake. I shall be as vigilant as ever, and she seems very little interested in me._

_Your devoted brother,_

_Fitzwilliam_

 

"I've come to see Jane. How does she fare?"

Her eyes were perilously bright. Darcy had to wrench his own away.

Bingley invited her to stay until her sister recovered. It was all Darcy could do not to draw his blade.

 

The safest thing to do would have been to make his excuses and leave for London, but he refused to leave the Bingleys at her mercy. He stayed and stuck close to their inhuman guest.

What her game was, Darcy couldn't guess, though he feared it centered on the ill girl upstairs. With her hosts, she was bewitchingly charming, though her wit turned vicious when pressed.

Caroline's own attempts at mockery were pale shadows beside it, though they offended the purported Miss Elizabeth all the same.

Darcy knew this because the more Caroline talked the more the milk curdled in its dish at tea.

 

They were not long free of their guests when Wickham rode into town.

 _Trust me,_ the air around him whispered. _Long for me. Look at me._

And along the street, people did. Miss Lydia was already giggling over him. Bingley was extending an amiable invitation. Even Miss Elizabeth smiled, and she was the only one on the street who could see what Darcy saw.

Where Wickham's eyes should have been, there was nothing but a dark, endlessly hungry void.

 

Darcy took to patrolling Netherfield's halls at night after that. It was an old house with good roots. There were still remnants of defenses from wiser times, now forgotten. He renewed them as best he could without drawing undue attention.

Iron nails already held up the doorframes. He burned sprigs of rowan and spread the ash across every threshold, sprinkled it into the pockets of his friend's coat.

It was harder to plant it on the servants and the ladies, but he did his best.

He had seen the two fey conspiring, and there was something lurking in the garden come nights.

 

Wickham knew better than to brave Darcy's defenses, but Miss Elizabeth was bold and had been a guest before. She kept her family away until they were fashionably late, and the other guests had already broken the lines of ash. The chill of the iron provoked only a flinch before she was past.

The maneuverings of others forced him to ask her to dance. 

It was his first dance of the evening, but sweat already gathered on his neck. His hands would be occupied. He would not be able to reach a weapon.

Her eyes were laughing at him already.

They spoke as they danced. He'd hoped it would make it safer, but the brighter her eyes grew in delight, the more frantic the dancing around them became. The music was maddening. Entrancing. Their hands barely touched, but the merest brush felt like fire on Midwinter's Night, a fire that would soon burn them all whole -

"Miss Elizabeth!" he snapped. "This dance is hardly appropriate here."

When all was lost, appeal to the Rules. If there was one defense England had left, it was that.

Her eyes widened, and the music abruptly stopped. The dancers stumbled to a halt and looked to one another, laughing nervously. The musicians struck up another tune that was conservatively, almost painfully, slow.

Miss Elizabeth still stood frozen, as if shocked. "Mr. Darcy," she began. "Mr. Darcy, what - "

"Excuse me," he interrupted, and he stalked past her to a thankfully empty hallway where he could press himself against a shadowed wall and gasp for breath without being seen.

His hands were still burning. He could not convince himself that he did not smell blood.

_His parents in the garden, their faces caught in a rictus parody of bliss -_

No. A carriage accident. That was what they'd told everyone.

A Darcy whose parents had died in a carriage accident could go back inside. A Darcy would never be so weak as to linger here.

He drew on a stiff mask of pride and went back inside.

It was a good thing he did because it was then that - that creature's designs became terrifyingly clear.

Why she wanted Miss Bennet married to Bingley, he wasn't sure, but if the fey wanted it, he was determined to prevent it.

Bingley was not made for a world of secrets and iron and blood.

 

Wickham left with the militia, and Darcy tore Bingley away. Miss Elizabeth's neighbors had survived her attentions before, surely with both her ally and antagonist gone, they would survive her again.

All would be well, he tried to convince himself. All would be well.

 

_Dear Georgiana,_

_I am glad you arrived safely back at Pemberley. Have the defenses been satisfactorily maintained in our absence?_

_~~I do not wish to worry you, but the changeling I wrote to you of haunts me still. Her eyes will not leave my dreams, and I fear what enchantment she might have laid -~~ _

_All is well in London. Its iron and industry guard me well. Still, there is a small matter which some herbs from Pemberley might be of assistance with, as London fails to provide options up to my admittedly exacting standards. I have taken the liberty of enclosing a list . . ._

 

Rosings was the safest estate in England. The last thing he expected was to find his tormentor there.

Bit the odious Mr. Collins - and how a clergyman didn't notice what rumor said he had almost married boggled belief - apologized to his aunt for Miss Elizabeth's absence.

"I fear she grew unexpectedly ill as we approached the gates. No doubt the thought of meeting so great a lady was a great strain upon her nerves . . . "

His aunt nodded in proud complacency, and poor bean sidhe cursed Anne barely noticed, but his cousin Fitzwilliam immediately shot him a look.

"As she approached the gates," he whispered meaningfully. "Our Aunt Catherine's beautiful cold iron gates."

Darcy clenched his jaw. The blood had already drained from his face.

"Excuse me," he said. "I'm afraid I am also unwell." He all but stalked from the room.

"I'll attend him," Fitzwilliam said quickly and hurried after him.

"I know her," Darcy said shortly as they moved towards the gates without having to discuss the matter. "She's a changeling."

Fitzwilliam raised an eyebrow. "And she's still alive?"

"This isn't a battlefield in France," Darcy snapped. "I cannot simply murder a lady of society."

"No, but she might be the death of you." Fitzwilliam's gaze was far too piercing. "Or is it someone else who has stolen your sleep?"

"I have it under control," Darcy said.

Fitzwilliam sighed. "You always do."

 

Miss Elizabeth seemed surprised to see them but not unpleased. Her eyes locked on Darcy in particular. "Do come in," she invited. "Mr. Darcy, I am pleased to see you. Will you introduce me to your friend?"

Her eyes were as shadowed as his own. _Help me,_ her whole posture whispered. _Save me. Tell me what you know._

"I prefer to give out as little as possible of my name to changelings, actually," Fitzwilliam said with a friendly smile.

She laughed, but the notes trembled. "I had not thought to find any friend of Mr. Darcy's so prone to childish fancies."

"You flinched from my aunt's gates," Darcy said quietly. "You disliked the salt dish on the table. You curdled the milk. You saw Wickham's eyes. You revealed yourself entirely at the ball."

"The ball," she repeated and sat down suddenly. She pressed a hand to her head. "So you do know what's happening to me."

"You mean to say that you do not?" he asked incredulously.

"How can I when no one will tell me?" she cried. "Even Wickham would only hint - "

"Wickham is too lost to his own dark magics to give anything for free," Fitzwilliam said.

 _"Dark magics?"_ she asked, her turn for incredulity now.

"You saw his eyes," Darcy said impatiently.

"I do not commonly judge on appearances, Mr. Darcy!"

"You mean you were taken in by his charms." Darcy's lip curled. "My father was as well. He hoped that a half-fey might not be wholly condemned, so at the elder Wickham's pleading, the infant was allowed to remain." _Music slipping through the open door -_ "For their kindness, he betrayed both my parents and his father to their deaths."

Her fingers twisted in her lap. "And if that was your hope and its results for him," she said, "where does that leave me?"

Fitzwilliam looked to him. "What has she done so far?"

"Little intentionally," he admitted, "save that I had to stop some scheme that would have united her sister with Bingley."

Miss Elizabeth shot to her feet, color flooding her cheeks. " _You_ separated them? For what cause? It was no scheme of mine that united them, only their own mutual affection. Do not tell me that Jane is infected with this evil, for I will not believe it!"

"It was a risk," Darcy started to say, but she would not hear it.

"Get out," she demanded, and the full force of her power fueled her words. "Get _out!_ "

The words pushed them almost physically back. Her teeth now looked painfully sharp.

The door slammed behind them once they were safely in the garden.

"Well?" Fitzwilliam asked him quietly.

The faint sound of sobs was audible through the door.

"I do not think she is actively malicious," he said.

 _It was no scheme of mine._

Call the Fair Folk what you would, you couldn't call them liars without taking that title for yourself.

"That doesn't make her safe," Fitzwilliam pointed out. "Much can be done in ignorance."

_The musicians at Netherfield playing as they had never played before -_

"I'll handle it," he promised.

 

_Dear Miss Elizabeth Bennet,_

_Please do not fear that this letter contains anything of a personal nature. I merely wished to inform you of some relevant matters of which of our last conversation revealed you to be ignorant._

_Much that is regarded as legend is quite real and quite dangerous. From the first time that I saw you, it was readily apparent that you could be most properly counted among them . . ._

_One regret I do have: Your sister was an innocent and should not have been involved . . ._

 

The letter had warned her of the dangers Lady Catherine could present to her, so he was not surprised when she cut her visit short and returned home.

He was not disappointed. Not at all.

There was nothing in Lady Catherine's gardens that stopped the dreams of burning eyes and weeping.

 

When he at last returned to Pemberley, he wasn't surprised to find there were guests touring the place.

Greeting them was only proper, but in the process, he learned something far more surprising.

"I believe you know our niece, Miss Elizabeth Bennet?"

Darcy's spine went stiff. "I do. Is she traveling with you?"

"She is indeed, but I'm afraid she felt a bit unwell and so is still in town."

"Yes," he said blankly. "Please pass along my wishes for her swift recovery."

 

It was wrong. It was unpardonably wrong.

But he called on her the next day after waiting to see that her aunt and uncle had gone out.

"Mr. Darcy," she said, rising. "Please, sit. I confess I hoped you would come. Your letter did not quite dispel all questions, and I was trying to contrive some way it would be proper to write, but the matter seemed impossible."

"I would be glad to answer what I can."

To his surprise, her first question was not directly about herself at all. "If I am a changeling, then what happened to the girl I replaced?"

A seed of respect grew. "It is possible there never was such a girl, and everyone was merely charmed to think there was."

"But if there was?" she pressed. "How might she be recovered?"

"For a few days after the switch, it might have been possible," he said quietly. "By now, however, she will certainly have eaten their food and thus have become ensnared. I am afraid she is beyond all help now."

"And so I am unwanted by those who sent me, an unknown grief to those that took me, and perhaps ruination to one who had done no harm to me," she said bitterly. "Better indeed that I had never been born!"

"No," he said firmly and was taken aback by his own conviction. "Your - your sisters would certainly disagree with that."

"No? Poor Jane would have been happy if not for me."

"If not for my interference," he corrected. "I . . . I do not know if I can mend that, but I am resolved to try."

Her eyes shone. "Thank you, Mr. Darcy. Jane deserves no less."

"The fey are not much given to thanks."

"Well, then they are not raised with manners," she said tartly, "and however you might judge my family, Mr. Darcy, _I_ was."

 

Two days later, he received a note.

_Mr. D -_

_W has taken L. Knowing what you have revealed of him, I fear it is not to a location my father can discover. I do not ask for any aid for myself, only that you give me what information you can, so that I may attempt to help her. Silly she may be, but she is an innocent in this._

_I know this note is terribly improper, but I have no other recourse and suspect that pursuit may require worse in any case. Please forgive me._

_\- E_

"Brother, what is it?" Georgiana asked. "You look unwell."

 _It's a trap,_ years of training tell him.

There were tearstains on the page.

"There's a new fairy ring in the woods, is there not?"

"Williams has gone to pull it up."

Darcy rose to his feet. "When?" he demanded.

"Not five minutes ago - "

Darcy raced out to stop him. If he failed, he could find another way through to the other side, but this would certainly be the quickest.

Saving Miss Lydia was a fool's chance, but -

For the sake of the gift of Sight he had been given, for the sake of an innocent, and even for the sake of the note, he had to try.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really did intend for this to be a one shot with an ambiguous ending, but by popular demand: Have another chapter.

There was no time for major preparations. All he had was a pocketful of salt and his small iron knife. As weapons with which to enter the Faerie Realms, they were pitifully insufficient.

But he had done more with less for Georgiana. He could do the same again.

The paths through faerie that could be entered through Pemberley were far too familiar, for reasons he preferred not to think of. The important part was that Wickham knew these paths too, better than he knew any others unless he had changed more deeply than Darcy knew.

If he needed a place to hide, he would come here.

The first step through was almost possible to mistake for a failure. The same neatly tended trees on a wide lawn stood around him.

But there was music on the breeze, and he knew how this worked.

In the distance, he could see the circle of lightning struck trees, a smear of blackness against the sky. The last time Darcy and Wickham had met on these paths, the fight had been there. Wickham’s hungry power would linger there. He might have been drawn back.

His voice was only tolerable, but he started to hum anyway. It kept his thoughts clearer as he began the long walk.

He was halfway there before he realized he was humming the same song Elizabeth had taken over at their dance.

 

The trees were woven together, dead limbs still locked together in a charred embrace. Darcy ducked and weaved his way through their sharp reach. Leaving blood here would be unwise in the extreme.

As soon as he stepped into the circle, the music vanished. Wickham would allow no other power here.

Darcy’s song held no power that he knew of, but he stopped it all the same.

He had been right. His quarry was here.

Wickham was different here than he was in the outside world. The void in his eyes spread through to cracks in his skin, bending light and gravity towards him. He had been kneeling by one of the trees, but he spun in a defensive crouch when he felt Darcy’s presence.

Darcy ignored the pull of his power and focused on the girl leaned up against the tree Wickham had been in front of. Miss Lydia’s face was flushed and her eyes were vacant, but she was alive at least. Her pout and sulkily crossed arms seemed very out of place in the already charged air. A small bag that probably contained her luggage was slumped beside her.

“Darcy,” Wickham said with a strained smile. “You’re here quicker than expected.”

“It’s been weeks,” Darcy said mildly. The letter could not possibly have arrived any quicker than that. From the looks of things, though, it hadn’t been nearly that long here. “The realm’s not helping you anymore, is it? You’ve asked for too much and not given enough back.”

Wickham’s smile was savage. “Oh, I’m going to give something back. Just as soon as that pretty changeling of yours stops hiding in the shadows and steps into the light. Elizabeth!” he called out. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

“She’s not here,” Darcy said evenly.

“Of course she’s here, how else did you get in?”

Darcy wasn’t sure if Wickham’s ignorance was amusing or appalling.

Lydia had brightened. “Lizzy’s here? I want to tell her all about our adventure.”

Wickham’s smile grew strained. “Later, darling. Eat your breakfast.”

Lydia’s pout returned. She hurled away the apple he must have given her, fresh and red and faerie perfect. “I can’t,” she sulked. “I already told you. Lizzy made me promise. She’s gotten dreadfully strange since she saw you at Rosings,” she informed Darcy. “She pestered us until we promised all sorts of strange things.”

“I’m sure your sister wouldn’t mind just the once,” Wickham said through gritted teeth. 

Considering that if Lydia ate faerie fruit she’d never be able to eat anything else, Darcy rather thought she would and said so. He started edging forward as he talked. If he could just get close enough . . . 

Wickham ignored him. “What’s one little promise?” he wheedled.

“Quite a lot when it’s to one of the fey,” Darcy said sharply. “You can feel it, can’t you, Lydia? It’s important.”

She bit her lip, glancing between them.

Darcy pressed his advantage and edged closer. “What else did she make you promise?” 

“She made me promise to wear this, only it’s not even pretty, so I tucked it away - “ Lydia pulled a small necklace out of her luggage and waved it carelessly.

Judging by the way Wickham flinched back, it was iron.

In the instant of Wickham’s distraction, Darcy lunged forward. Wickham’s own gravitational pull gave him speed.

And the small iron knife he always carried with him buried itself in Wickham’s throat.

Wickham’s eyes went wide. Lydia screamed.

Darcy yanked the knife back out. Wickham’s whole body was shuddering, the void spreading through the cracks and pulling everything it could reach in after it. Darcy held the knife up as a pitiful ward and threw half his salt at it as he dashed for the screaming girl. He grabbed her wrist and tugged her after him. They had to get out of here.

“Where are we?” she demanded. “What happened?” Her wrist jerked in his grip. “Is that _blood?_ ”

“Keep running,” he ordered. He didn’t dare to look back. He could hear the trees cracking as they were pulled forward. Wickham wouldn’t die quietly.

Free from the circle, the music had started up again. It was frantic now. Pounding. He could feel it tearing at his mind, and it would be so easy to just let go and follow it. They didn’t really _have_ to return to the faerie ring right away.

A furious song rose in counterpoint, demanding that they run towards it. His eyes were irresistibly drawn back in the direction of the faerie ring he’d come in through.

Elizabeth was running from it towards them, her skirt once again six inches deep in mud for the sake of a sister. Her eyes blazed with the same furious light as her song.

It went against every instinct he had to run _toward_ an angry fey, but they were out of better options, and this was Elizabeth.

There was something dangerous with that thinking, but there was something even more dangerous behind them, so Darcy kept running and forcing Lydia to run too.

They met Elizabeth halfway, and she immediately turned and began to run with them, still holding off the danger with song. All three of them stumbled to a halt just outside the faerie circle.

“Why are we stopping?” Lydia demanded hysterically. 

“This is our way out,” Darcy said. His eyes cut to Elizabeth, who had stopped a little farther away than they had and was casting a longing look behind them.

Like called to like, and from a certain point of view, this was the place she belonged.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, just a touch of sharpness in his voice.

Her gaze snapped back to his, and she nodded tightly before stepping forward.

It was important that they step through together so that they emerged at the same time. Darcy offered his hand before it occurred to him that it would be more appropriate for her to take her sister’s free one. By then, however, Elizabeth had grasped his anyway, and there was no time.

They stepped through.

 

The sun suggested it was past noon. He just hoped it was past noon on the same day they had left.

“Oh,” Lydia said faintly. Then she fainted.

Darcy just managed to get his hands free to catch her. He lowered her slowly against a tree and winced at the resemblance to the scene he had walked in on.

“She’ll be fine,” he assured Elizabeth. “She’s just had a rather large shock.”

“She’s not alone,” Elizabeth said sharply. “My note was not intended to send you off alone, Mr. Darcy!”

“I am sorry that your sister’s rescue was not to your taste,” he said stiffly.

She deflated somewhat. “That is not at all what I meant. I am very grateful, Mr. Darcy, truly. I was merely worried when I learned what you had done. I would not like to be responsible for your loss.”

“There was no time to waste. I could not let her be trapped there. It is a terrible fate for any innocent, and I had no wish to see you grieved. Aside from any moral obligation, I have . . . grown very fond of you, against my better judgement.”

Elizabeth laughed. “A breathtaking compliment indeed!”

The offense implicit in the statement occurred to him, and he stumbled to find a way to fix it. “Not, of course - I did not mean - “

“Peace, Mr. Darcy. After today, I think I rather grasp your point.”

It suddenly occurred to him that Elizabeth was at Pemberley, something that should have been impossible. He frowned. “How did you get in?”

“Your sister was very worried,” Elizabeth informed him. “I managed to talk her into letting me help.”

“Ah.” 

Elizabeth had drifted closer, and now she knelt down beside him to better check on her sister. Her cheeks were still flushed and her eyes bright with exertion and power. He was suddenly very aware of just how close she was.

“You are not the only one who has grown fond against their better judgement,” she admitted quietly, leaning forward, a breath away from touch.

Darcy froze.

Elizabeth stilled as well and leaned back, her cheeks flushing darker with embarrassment. “Forgive me, Mr. Darcy. I can’t imagine what came over me.”

“It’s been a disordered morning,” he offered and put a bit more space between them.

It was several more moments before he could tear his eyes away from her inviting lips and those laughing eyes. Fondness was one thing. This infatuation was another thing entirely.

It would pass, he told himself firmly.

He ignored the small voice that said it had shown no sign of fading yet.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So with every chapter, I've marked it as the end and then changed my mind and come back. This one, however, takes us to the approximate end of the novel, so it probably is the actual final chapter.

There were no rumors about Lydia’s disappearance and return. Few would have known in the first place, of course, and of those that did . . .

Well, Darcy knew first hand that the fey could be very persuasive. 

It was over. It was done. He had told her all he knew of what she was. He had put an end to Wickham. He could not possibly owe her anything, and he ought to put her out of his mind.

He thought of the way she had leaned in, the brightness of her eyes - 

She haunted his dreams even still. 

 

He tried half a dozen recipes for dreamless sleep, a dozen purification rituals to wash away enchantments. 

The former worked, but it left him restless and distracted during the day.

The latter helped not at all.

 

“Maybe it isn’t a spell,” Georgiana whispered late one night after their guests had gone to bed. Darcy had been sitting at his desk in his study with his head in his hands, but he straightened quickly when he saw his sister. He had no wish to worry her.

At this point, though, it was likely too late for that. “If not a spell, then what?” he asked more harshly than he meant to. He softened his tone. “I have not forgotten what she is.”

“You also haven’t forgotten _who_ she is,” Georgiana pointed out. “I see your face when you think of her. You love her, don’t you?”

“I would never endanger you by pursuing her,” he said, which wasn’t actually an answer at all.

Georgiana looked uncertain. “She didn’t hurt us last time when I gave her permission to come in.”

“She did not,” he conceded. “But it would be an incredible risk nonetheless.”

“It would make you happy,” she said.

He rose and crossed the room to kiss her on the forehead. “I am already happy,” he assured her.

It was almost true.

 

_Dear Cousin Fitzwilliam,_

_After the events I related to you in my last letter, I find myself thinking of her more and more. I am beginning to doubt that it is a spell that so ensnares me. I know it is madness to consider more, and yet . . ._

 

_To my dear cousin,_

_ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND? She’s fey, Darcy, she can’t be trusted. If I wasn’t in France right now, I’d be halfway to Pemberley. Throw up a salt circle before you go to bed, make Georgiana promise not to let you out of the house unaccompanied, and for the love of everything sane, do not go near that changeling._

_Fitzwilliam_

 

_My dear aunt,_

_With your great insight and perception, I am sure you noticed in our last visit that Darcy was somewhat out of sorts. I have now learned what the cause of that trouble is. A changeling has set her sights on him . . ._

_I am sure I can trust you to ensure Darcy’s safety._

_Your nephew,_

_Fitzwilliam_

 

He was at Netherfield, doing his best to nudge Bingley towards Jane so that he could keep his promise to Elizabeth to repair the harm he had caused. 

Not that nudging Bingley towards Jane was at all difficult. The only difficult part of the matter was maintaining his distance from Elizabeth and convincing himself that it was only for Miss Bennet and Bingley’s sake that he’d come.

When that difficulty became too great, he removed himself to London and tried to convince himself that the fog of industry made him feel safer instead of painfully alone.

Lady Catherine’s arrival did not actually help with that.

“Aunt,” he said in some surprise when she swept into his parlor. “I had no idea you were in London.”

“And where else should I be when that is where you are and you are in danger?” she snapped. “I could not risk leaving you alone after that unnatural girl - “

Darcy froze. “What girl?”

“The one who calls herself Elizabeth Bennet,” she sneered. “I can only guess what unholy sound her true name might be.”

Darcy’s throat went dry. “You went to see her.”

“I went to stop her,” Lady Catherine said. “I could hardly do otherwise after what Fitzwilliam wrote me.”

Darcy closed his eyes and reminded himself that he could not actually kill his cousin, no matter how tempting he made it. He had only been worried, and Darcy could scarcely blame him for it. “And were you . . . successful . . . in your efforts?”

“I could not find where she kept her spells,” Lady Catherine admitted grudgingly. “When I confronted her directly, she refused to admit to anything. I pressed her most carefully; how she managed to evade me, I cannot guess. She claimed she had not laid any sort of magic on you at all, nor gotten another to do it, but of course that is nonsense. You would not be so enamored of her without its aid.”

As a fey, she could not have lied. Hope began to rise in Darcy’s chest.

“Even more direct action failed,” she said. “Her wiles protected her.”

He knew too well what direct action meant.

But it had failed. It had failed, and it was not magic that had tugged him towards her so insistently, or at least he was as sure of that as he ever could be.

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “On the contrary, Aunt, I think you have done more good than you know. My head feels clearer than it has in months. I realize now what must be done; I will return to Netherfield to do so at once.”

It was true, though like most of the fey’s truths, it was not quite true in the way that he knew Lady Catherine guessed.

 

He walked down a dirt trail with only a fey in sight, and he was not reaching for his knife.

Madness, surely.

And yet not as mad as what he was about to do. 

Elizabeth spoke before he could. “Your aunt visited recently,” she said. Her hands twisted with uncharacteristic nervousness in her skirt. “She was very concerned for your health. I wish to assure you, Mr. Darcy, that I do not mean either you or your family the slightest bit of harm, and that I have not knowingly cast anything upon you. If there is aught I could do to help, however, I will do all in my power to aid you. I have little knowledge of such charms, but if my power can be of any assistance, you have but to ask.”

“The offer is kindly made,” he said, “but I believe my aunt to be in error about what ails me. I think now it is a concern far more common than enchantment.” He stopped walking and turned to her. “Miss Elizabeth, I have long admired your grace and courage as well as your refusal to surrender who you are. That admiration has since grown in intensity until I know not what else to call it but love. Would you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?”

Her eyes shone, but she took a step back. “But surely you cannot - “

“I may not be bound to the truth as you are,” he interrupted, “but I am not in the habit of deceit. I assure you, I mean what I say.”

She took a deep, shaking breath. “Then, Mr. Darcy, I must confess that you are not alone in your feelings. If you are certain that this is what you want, than I would be delighted to accept.”

His family would think him entirely mad, he was sure, with the exception of Georgiana.

For the moment, though, he allowed himself to not care a whit.


End file.
